Through My Eyes
by Eileniessa
Summary: Yen...Yen...the Witcher moaned, staring across at his love. Yennefer held herself firmly as he called her name, rocking back and forth, crying and muttering under her breath. Geralt...what have you done?


Cheri Huber - There Is Nothing Wrong with You: Going Beyond Self-Hate

"If you had a person in your life treating you the way you treat yourself, you would have gotten rid of them a long time ago..."

 **Disclaimer:**

This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the books by Andrzej Sapkowski and the game series by CD Projekt Red. I do not claim ownership to any of these characters and have written this fan fiction for entertainment, not financial gain.

 **Prompt:**

Send me a pairing and a number and I'll write you a drabble

65\. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

* * *

Very few things were capable of making the Witcher angry. His skin had toughened over the years he'd lived on the path and he'd become detached from many of life's vulgar realities. It was a necessity in his line of work because he often encountered people while they were at their worst. Monsters brought upon their land because of the darkness already seeded there, planted by the hand of civil society and the foul intent that festered under its wings.

While it was true that the darkness stirred something inside him, he felt mostly a sense of annoyance and contempt. He was too weary to be angry, for if that was what the darkness instilled in him, he'd never have a moments rest for the injustice of the world would be constant upon his shoulders. Besides, Witchers weren't made to set the world of men to rights. They did not fight evil, nor act on good's behalf, but served their own interests; that was all. Or so it had been for a long time.

Geralt was a simple man, and simple men have little time for the type of anger that drives others to - most often irrational - action. He was happy wallowing in his frustration and his contempt because it demanded little of him and because he'd become accustomed to it. Perhaps that was why, in the wake of their departure, he felt greatly changed.

Very few things were capable of making the Witcher angry, and for good reason too. Dead men were bad for business and wherever one can find an enraged Witcher, they are unlikely to find a man of any other sorts. That was true of the dark corridors down which the Butcher of Blaviken currently walked and where contradictions to the statement were quickly being amended. Somewhere close, Yennefer was hurting, and it sent Geralt mad with rage.

Every few seconds he'd strike a fatal blow, coating the walls or the stairs with the blood of a Witch Hunter. No one living left the room once he had passed through. He gave no man a chance to flee and though some tried he always caught up with them. Geralt passed countless cells, ever climbing, sparing not a glance beyond the dimeritium bars, knowing that she was not there. By the time he reached the top, some of the corpses he'd left had already gone cold.

A chair was positioned in the middle of the small, circular room, facing the door through which the Witcher had come. A tiny, frail figure sat upon it, bony limbs strapped to it with a green-tinged metal that was making the skin on her wrists, ankles and neck burn. Yennefer was blindfolded and flinched and whimpered when King Radovid drew back the hair covering her face, taunting Geralt with the pale and bruised finish of her skin. It made him even angrier.

He was swarmed by guards and could not see Yennefer through the throng, though her screams were clear and filled the room. He cut down the Witch Hunters one, two, three at a time, creating a pile of bodies at his feet that he had to blast out of his way with a sign for there were too many to walk over. The knife in Radovid's hand shook before Yennefer's neck as the remains of his guard skid across the floor and the smirk from his face fell as he looked the Witcher in the eye.

He drew back his bloodied knife and ran to the opposite side of the room, banging at the stone. Part of the wall cracked open, but the Witcher had the man by the throat before he could slip inside, throwing him to the floor. The King pleaded, begged for mercy. Geralt listened for a spell and then brought his fist down upon his face. He screamed and screamed as the Witcher carefully and expertly beat him to death.

His work complete, Geralt wiped Radovid's blood from his hands upon the King's royal garments and fetched the keys from his waist. Whispering sweet nothings into Yennefer's ears, he freed her from the dimeritium shackles and pulled her from the chair. She smiled faintly as he spoke and reached up to pull the blindfold away and when she saw him, she screamed.

Geralt caught her by the arm as she backed away, holding her close. He tried to calm her but his words did not reach her as Yennefer kept struggling in his grasp and yelling at him to let go, which he did not. _What's wrong! Speak to me_ Yen _!_ he called to her. The Sorceress kept screaming, tears upon her bloodied face. _Get away from me! Monster!_ she cried. It was then that the Witcher saw that her fearful expression was mixed pain and he released his grip on her arms.

Yennefer fell backwards over a corpse, twisting her ankle as she fell. Geralt reached out to her, kneeling close to where she lay. She scurried away from him, dragging her foot across the floor and slumping against the wall. But the Witcher did not see this, nor the sword she reached for and held close and tightly, for he had seen the long claws adorning his hands where once there had been none. They were caked in blood, as were the fangs he felt protruding from his mouth while the stone under his hand was cracked and broken.

 _Yen...Yen..._ the Witcher moaned, staring across at his love. Yennefer held herself firmly as he called her name, rocking back and forth, crying and muttering under her breath. _Geralt...what have you done? What...what... Geralt, you're a monster_!

* * *

Under the cover of darkness, Geralt awoke in cold sweat. He'd yet to recall where he was when he reached out a hand, and then the other, to search the bed. The cover was wrapped around his waist and legs and he could not find anything else under it but empty space. There was no trace of heat or an impression on the thin, small mattress they had shared these past several days. Yennefer was not beside him, nor had she been for some time.

He kicked the covers off and swung his legs over the bed, which creaked very quietly, as it always did when he moved upon it. Geralt hung his head, resting it upon his interlocked hands, the bend of his fingers digging lightly into his throat. Rather than receding, the fear he'd felt in sleep intensified as he sat and remembered.

He knew from whence the nightmare had come. Just over a day had passed since he'd helped rescue Rita from the prison in Oxenfurt (or at least it was so when he'd closed his eyes) and he'd not seen nor heard from Yennefer since she'd teleported away. When he'd returned to the Chameleon she'd been locked away in the tavern's largest room discussing matters of import with the other Sorceresses - Rita, Triss and Philippa (who he'd rescued the day before; saving Sorceress was becoming somewhat of an occupational hazard for him). He'd waited for a short stint, playing a round of gwent with Ciri, but soon grew too tired to think straight and went to bed.

It had been dark when he'd done so and still was, meaning he'd either slept too much or too little. Geralt wasn't concerned which it was, he only wanted to know where Yennefer was. It was late (that he could tell almost instinctively) hence she should be here, with him, and yet it was plain that she was not. Deciding to go and search for her, Geralt changed quickly, leaving his leather armour at the foot of the bed but not his swords. He had a feeling.

Yennefer's scent led him downstairs and to the heart of the tavern, which was currently cold and lifeless, affirming his suspicions of the hour. He padded carefully across the room and past the tables and tankards, spying Dandelion and Zoltan asleep at the bar. Geralt's nose took him to the front door, which was closed but not locked, and he turned back to the stairs. Thinking he'd somehow gone astray, the Witcher retraced his steps but sure enough, as he had thought the first time, the scent disappeared under the door.

He paused for a moment on the threshold, knees going suddenly weak as he recalled his recent dream. It was all too coincidental, but he had to believe it was; it was the only positive conclusion he could make. Without thinking to check if anyone was outside, he pulled open the door and stepped out into the street.

Geralt struggled to keep his pace in check as he jogged alongside Yennefer's scent, following it further and further away from the (relative) safety of the Chameleon. He would likely have run after the Sorceress if not for the need to listen out carefully for the presence of patrols and to occasionally change his course to avoid them. He was about to do so for a third time when he caught something in the breeze, a newer, fresher scent from a couple of streets over. The Witcher moved towards it, quickly finding the trail though he did not need it.

A figure cloaked in black was moving cautiously up the street, a shadow upon the cobblestone. He was sure it was Yennefer, not just by her smell, but by the very way she moved. Precise and graceful; nimble as a fox. Geralt thought to call out to her but reasoned against it, knowing too well that the ears had walls. Instead, he stalked towards her, making even less sound than she.

As he began to move closer to the figure, the Witcher noticed another set of footsteps approaching and he quickened his pace. Something was rushing towards them and he could hear faint shouting and muttering up ahead. Swiftly he moved behind the cloaked figure, wrapping an arm around their chest and pinning their arms to their side. Hand smothering their surprise, Geralt pulled the shadow down the narrow alley they were passing, biting his tongue as they kicked and squirmed.

"Yen, it's me. Someone's coming," he whispered. The Sorceress went still immediately and he released her but kept her close, his free hand resting on the hilt of his steel blade.

A few seconds passed before footsteps sounded on their street, and there were more to follow. He heard an arrow being loosed and a cry of pain as something hit the floor. Light moved into the main street adjacent to them, and the clanking of weapons and plate mail alongside it. Geralt felt Yennefer's body tense under his arm.

"Looks like we've caught ourselves a rat," said a voice flatly. There was a round of gruff chuckling and what sounded like a kick, the pained voice bleating dismally.

"Horrible scrawny thing," said a husky voice, "I wonder if it bites." More pained whimpers and laughing before the first voice hushed the rest.

"Alright, enough fun. Let's get this elf to the barracks, he's got a lot to answer for."

The lights began to draw closer and while Geralt began to draw his sword Yennefer muttered an incantation under her breath. Stepping away from the Witcher, she held her palms out towards the end of the small alley and Geralt saw the air before her ripple with heat. They both held their breath as the Witch Hunters walked past. He could see that the illusion was fragile, the air shimmering and the magic weakening because of the dimeritium shackles at the men's waist. Several of the Hunters looked towards them, one even catching his eye, but they were all too distracted torturing the body they were dragging behind them to notice that anything was amiss.

Yennefer and Geralt waited for the patrol to pass out of the Witcher's sight before moving on.

* * *

They hurried back to the Chameleon in silence, Geralt taking the lead. He was glad to find Yennefer safe but knew that his troubles had only really begun. The Sorceress was fuming. He could feel her narrowed eyes on his back as they walked and his fear gave way to nervousness. All hell would break loose once they were inside - and it did.

"You better have a good explanation, Geralt, as to why you were following me." Locking the door behind them, the Witcher stood quietly before Yennefer as she berated him. Her hands were clasped to her hips and she was looking at him darkly, pencilled brows drawn together in a scowl. "Am I a fool to think that I'd left behind the baseless suspicions of Witchers at Kaer Morhen? For your sake, I best not be wrong."

Over her shoulder, Geralt saw Dandelion fall off his chair. Zoltan hauled the man to his feet and pushed him towards the stairs, grumbling indistinctly about bloody Sorceresses. He listened to them walk upstairs and over his head, but kept his eyes trained on Yennefer who was glowering back at him. Though he tried to think how to reply, his mind kept turning back to the nightmare and how foolish he'd look if he gave that as his answer. Besides, she might not even believe him and that would only make things worse.

"Don't keep me waiting, Witcher," Yennefer hissed, making a sharp gesture with her hands. Her star jostled in the nape of her neck as she moved her head, making the diamonds gleam.

Geralt pressed his lips together and rested a hand on his chest, curling his fingers around a leather strap. He felt strange just leaving them hanging at his sides while Yennefer watched him, eyes burrowing under his skin. She would not ask again and failing to answer would be a cataclysmic error. It would be better if she thought him a fool.

"I was scared," Geralt replied in an undertone. Yennefer's eyes widened marginally, but the scowl did not leave her face, nor the tension from her body, though her shoulders sagged under his words.

"Of what, exactly? That I'd left you to crawl into bed with another?"

There was something in the way she spoke that made Geralt, for a moment, forgot himself. "Yen," he called softly, stepping towards the Sorceress. The sharp edge of her expression dropped as he moved close but Yennefer was quick to catch it. "Of course not, I-"

"Then tell me what you were doing and be quick about it, or else you leave me with no choice but to think that you don't trust me!" she snapped. The Witcher did not step away but pulled back his hand which was hovering between them. Her words cut him deep. He'd never meant for Yennefer to doubt his faith in her. Why hadn't he just answered her plain to begin with? Surely her reaction couldn't be worse than this?

Geralt sighed. "I had a nightmare and you... You were gone."

When her expression warmed, it was not seized back and remained in place for him to see. The muscles in her face and body relaxed and she looked upon him in a way that he could not comprehend; with a mix of relief and of regret. Her fingers loosened at her sides and her elbows dropped, the rim of her cloak falling closer to the ground.

"Tell me what you saw, Geralt."

She turned her back to him and pulled around a chair, perching on the edge, legs crossed, and watching him expectantly. Geralt hesitated, then sat upon a nearby table. Bending over, he rested his arms on his thighs and steepled his fingers. He did not want to speak about his nightmare, but he would not keep Yennefer waiting again, not so soon. It's not that he minded sharing what he'd seen and felt. Many nights before this, when he'd awoken to Yennefer's face and soft whispers, he'd told her of that which troubled his sleep. She'd always reassure him that he was being a fool, laughing at his expense, but easing his worries all the same. No, that's not what he minded. He was afraid to scare her again.

He talked about how he'd wandered up and down endless corridors searching for her, walking past cells full of bones and wailing. That he killed some Witch Hunters along the way before entering the room where King Radovid was torturing her. Yennefer waited while he gathered the rest of his thoughts, holding her star between two slender fingers. When he continued, telling her about how he killed Radovid's guards and freed her, it began to glow faintly and for the briefest of seconds. She did not break the silence when his story ended but appeared to wait for him to continue, urging him to do so when he did not.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Witcher closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. He didn't want to say anymore, which she knew, of course, and he wasn't even sure he could. Geralt, however, found a way and added the details he'd dared not mention before. Of how cruel and merciless he'd been, and how much he'd scared her. He kept his eyes upon the floor as he spoke, afraid that he'd see that which he was describing.

The room was eerily quiet and tense when he stopped talking. Geralt began to trace the lines of the wooden floor with his eyes, drawing them in memory to stop himself from thinking too hard about what Yennefer was doing, of how she might be reacting, when her small feet stepped into view. Cold, soft fingers gripped his stubbled chin and raised up his head so that he was looking Yennefer in the eye. She smiled sadly at him and traced her fingers over his jaw, her breath warm against his face.

"Oh Geralt," she said quietly, leaning her forehead against his, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

Yennefer looked at him intensely from behind bright, violet eyes. All traces of anger and disdain that had recently flashed within them were gone, while the memory of her cold stare was driven from his mind by the sympathy he saw in their depths. He observed the sincerity of Yennefer's words in her modest smile, the upturned corners of her lips softening the callous edges of her demeanour. Geralt got up from the table and the Sorceress' hands trailed down his shoulders and then traced the muscles of his arms. When they fell to his wrists, he caught them and held them tightly, the coldness in them edging away at his touch. Craning her neck to look him in the eye, Yennefer tugged at his hands and Geralt stooped, capturing her lips and lingering close when they surfaced.

"You really are a fool, Geralt, to think that I'd ever see you that way. I love you - never forget. Promise me," she whispered.

He chuckled faintly, Yennefer smiling with him. The power she held over him; it was something else. All that Geralt had felt since he'd awoken, she'd caused, rendering from him an impossible spectrum of thoughts and sensations. None of what she induced in him a Witcher should feel. And yet, whenever they were together - or when he even thought of her - he experienced the impossible; a continuum of emotion. Yennefer made him feel it all. She made him feel alive. How had he ever thought he could live without her?

"I promise, Yen."

"Good. Then don't ever think of yourself in that way again, for each time you do I shall take it as a sign that you doubt how I feel. Now, let's go to bed. I shan't leave your side again this night."

* * *

See, this is why it takes me so long to complete prompts - I can never keep things simple. Did I need the middle scene; NO. Did I write it anyway; OF COURSE I DID! Oh well, hope you enjoyed it and if you did please consider liking/leaving kudos and a little comment. If you're interested in sending a prompt and/or participating in prompt cards/lists then look to Tumblr (hopefully its still a thing when you're reading this).

Constructive criticism welcome :)


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